Boarding school. I am going to a boarding school. I had whispered this to myself over and over, but it still had not lost its meaning, or its excitement. Those two words, "Boarding school," hold my entire future in them. I'm going to boarding school.

My old "school" was a cup of tea. I excelled at my courses; I was at the top of my class. I never did get along with my peers, due to a highly competitive atmosphere, but that wasn't a big deal. I had been taught from the start that I was not there to make friends. Then again, I wasn't here to make friend either.

I had to infiltrate Attilan Academy-the highest security private school in the world—because Attilan trained spies.

For a young aspiring Red Room agent, this was the opportunity of a lifetime—and I deserved it. I had passed through all the tests, survived all the experiments, and now here I am on this incredible mission.

It may not have been Red Room's top priority, but this was an inside look at the future of rival agencies. Not to mention it was a way to get out of a highly oppressive atmosphere and stretch my legs.

What could possibly be so enjoyable as this?

The limousine that had picked me up from the airport pulled through the gates of the Academy, one among many of the sleek black cars. I watched the gates as they passed by, taking note of the power-box situated on the pillars, likely to be an electric fence.

"Mister Romanova," The driver hacks in his heavy Russian accent. He hands me a telephone, expensive by the look of it. The screen flashes to life. A blond woman stares through the screen. "Hallo, Nathaniel. I vish you luck on your first day of zis mission. Ah you prepared for your briefing?"

I nod.

"As you know, ve have very leetle intelleegence on zis academy. Any and all eenformation regarding ze security, rules, and students ees to be reported. However, two students een parteecular are a point of eentrest for Red Room. I expect you to find and befriend zees gulls," Two (off the record) drop dead gorgeous girls appear on the screen. Complete opposites of each other, the one smiling goofily with long blond hair almost down to her waist waves at the camera, she shouts something, inaudible in the silence of the clip. The other is more composed and sophisticated. She rolls her drastically green eyes at her companion and flips her dark black hair over one shoulder. The clip ends with her looking dramatically at the pale ocean behind them. I take a deep breath and remember that although my mission may be nonconsequential, it is still to be taken seriously.

I exhale.

"Undeerstood?" the woman asks.

"Yes," I reply, with a firm nod. Unlike the woman, my Russian accent is neatly tucked away.

"More orders to follow. You are to report to us veekly on Saturday nights at seex o' clock. Yees?"

I simply nod this time.

"Good luck," She salutes, and the screen fizzes out again.

Suit cases in tow, I make my way up the expansive marble steps of the courtyard. I look around at the gardens and fountains, and I smile.

You have a mission, and you need to take it seriously, but that doesn't mean you can't enjoy it.

Parents hug their children who scoff and resist. A twinge in my stomach applies to my non-agent side: the orphan. I imagine my training officer in the place of a mother- giving me a tight hug, or using a napkin to wipe food off of my chin. I laugh to myself, and click my tongue as I head inside. There are tables set up all across the entrance hall, and upperclassmen hold up signs with letters on them. I head for the R's. A quick glance at the driver's license in my hand tells me that as of now I am Nathaniel Romanoff. A slight difference, and one I have used as cover many times before.

I push my reddish-brown hair out of my eyes and look at the tiny blond girl in front of me. She twirls a pigtail held by a red, white, and blue ribbon. She looks up at me and squeaks, "You're an 'R'?"

I smile. She must be a visiting daughter. "I like your ribbons. Very… patriotic. Is there an adult here?"

She straightens up and sighs at me. "I'm a senior." Her bubble voice rings in my ears and I barely grasp what she means. Was that even possible?

She smiles sweetly and tilts her head to the side

A pale thin hand wraps around her mouth. "Stella, honey, you're being so niiice," a shorter-than-average (but not looking the age of 6 like her friend) girl coos, as she peeks out from behind a pigtail. "She's a bit sensitive about her size, you know. She's just an itty-bitty baby senior, yes she is!" The girl falsettos in her hindered compatriot's ear. "Now, Stella, repeat after me: 'Listen here, you insufferable prick, you wish you were half as slammin' as thi—"

Pigtails rolls her eyes, and her friend flounders away.

"Jesus H. Christ, Stella, don't lick me!" The girl howls, wiping her hand on her pants. Stella smiles smugly.

"Do you have a name, Mr. 'Insufferable Prick'?" She asks.

I open my mouth, but what am I supposed to say!? Nothing in my years of training ever prepared me for this… this…

"Nathaniel Romanoff," I reply, smoothing my hair back, hiding the panic under some suavity.

The girl-that-isn't-Stella swoons. "Nathahniel Romanoof" She says in an accent that is supposed to be Russian but sounds vaguely Welsh. She smiles really wide, and I notice her dimples. I look at her now, with her soft brown hair and freckles and I find myself goofily smiling back.

Girls. Never in my years did they prepare me how to girls.

"Yeah, Commi, your room is on the second floor with a Mister Mark Hill. Have fun," The un-named-dimpled-goddess sings, handing me a piece of paper and pointing to the stairs.

My eyes widen and I awkwardly shuffle away. I'm used to burly Russians trying to kick my ass during training, but… girls? Girls licking each other and swearing and making jokes about Russia?

And suddenly I'm noticing them all over. Girls everywhere. Girls that are tall, girls that are short, girls that are black, tan, Asian, white—Girls.

I insert my key into the knob and turn, to no avail. I try again, and press myself against the door. I now choose to knock.

"Uh… Hello?" I call, knocking once again.

"Who is it?" A broad, deep voice grates from behind the thick mahogany door.

"Hello, I'm your roommate? I think the door is jammed…

You can hear a gruff mumble, followed by clicking and scratching. The door creaks open and a brown eye peers out. "Name?" My new roomie asks.

"Nathaniel Romanoff?" I ask

"Age?"

"16?"

"Date of Birth?"

"October 11th?"

He pauses, and the door swings open, but the gun in his hands says he isn't happy about it. "Listen here, buddy."

He gestures with the gun to come inside, and I oblige.

"I am not your friend, and I do not under any circumstances trust you. You get the bottom bunk. If you're going to have girls around here," he looks me over and nods, "then you must inform me at least 24 hours in advance. On Mondays through Fridays you will be allowed to masturbate between the hours of 4 to 5. I will from 7 to 8, so you had better clear your scrawny ass out of here by then. Understood?"

His gruff military haircut and posture make me snap to attention. The commands register and I find myself saying "Yes, Sir." Before I realize what the hell I just agreed to.

At least something here is familiar.

"We will alternate laundry duty weekly," He continues. "I will be visiting my parents on weekends, so Laundry will be done on Fridays. I expect a clean and organized environment at all times, with no exceptions. You may unpack."

And I did just that.

Author's Note:

Hi, thanks for reading! This is my first fanfic, so any input would be lovely! There will be future smut, hence the M rating.